


if walls could talk

by Karentt1



Series: where did the fucking lawyer go? [2]
Category: Modern Family (TV)
Genre: Creepy, Dark, Hand Feeding, Kidnapping, M/M, Slight feminization, but because mitchell is favourite he gets to suffer, i hated writing some of those scenes, i promise no matter how dark they get, im not very nice to him, im sorry for this, like seriously, no non-con, not ever in my fics, they deal with emotions y'know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25705054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karentt1/pseuds/Karentt1
Summary: The family is trying to deal with the disappearance of Mitchell, some better than others, while Mitchell is faced with a man stuck in the past.--------"Mitchell woke up to darkness. It was the type of blackness that was grainy, like you could almost make out shapes inside it. It reminded him of old black and white pictures from the fifties, the kind his father had in old photo albums."
Relationships: Mitchell Pritchett/Cameron Tucker
Series: where did the fucking lawyer go? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863820
Comments: 26
Kudos: 52





	if walls could talk

**Author's Note:**

> im really sorry about this. i guess writing dark stuff really is what im good at. poor mitchell. I hope he survives this, i havent figured out that part yet.

The investigation was still ongoing. Part of Claire hoped this would all be solved within a couple hours, like her brother would come running back to them soon. They would hug and yell at him with relief, and it would all be over. Then in a few years they would talk about it over dinner, say something like “Remember that time we thought you were kidnapped? That was funny.” Then they would chuckle and clink their glasses together. But it had been forty-eight hours since Mitchell had gone missing and Claire was continuously thrust back into the hell her life had become. 

Jay had gone home after a few hours of calling every man he could think of that could get the job done. He said something about helping his wife find her weapons, but Claire knew that it was really because he couldn't stand being so vulnerable so close to family. She wanted to tell him it was okay, that he could trust them but she didn’t think she had the words to do so. Her mind kept on replaying the news story over and over again, _Mitchell Pritchett has been reported missing after his husband called about stalkerish behaviour around the house,_ until it was the only thing she could hear. 

“Mom?” Haley said softy from behind her and Claire turned, hastily wiping her tears away so her daughter wouldn’t see her cry. She had to be strong through this for her children. They were looking at her for support and she would give it to them. 

“Yes honey?” 

Haley bit her lip, toeing the ground with her foot. “Do you think this is going to turn out?” She brushed some hair from her eyes. “I mean, he’s going to be found and everything is going to be fine, right?” 

Claire looked into her daughters eyes and thought, “We all need a little lie right now.” 

“Of course sweetie,” she said, trying to sound comforting. She reached out and wrapped Haley in a hug. Her daughter practically melted into her, like she was waiting for some semblance of comfort. “He’ll be home soon.” 

“That’s good,” Haley said into her shirt. “We had a fun day planned together. We were supposed to go for dinner, then go to some concert he said I had to see. It was going to be a new tradition for us.” 

“Oh Haley,” Claire sighed, trying not to think of forgotten concert tickets in pockets that will never see the light of day. 

* * *

Mitchell woke up to darkness. It was the type of blackness that was grainy, like you could almost make out shapes inside it. It reminded him of old black and white pictures from the fifties, the kind his father had in old photo albums. 

He shifted slightly and found himself on a soft bed. He couldn’t make out the exact shapes on the sheets but he thought they might be roses. The blankets and pillows had a slight musty smell to them like the room hadn’t been used in many years. 

He felt fear well up in him. He was in a strange room and he didn’t know what happened to him. He could barely remember the last thing that happened, all he could think of was the sickly sweet scent of chloroform. He almost laughed at the irony of the situation; a lawyer who defended victims in court was now the victim himself. He wondered who would defend him if he ever got out. 

His eyes started to adjust more to the darkness and he started seeing colours. The walls were painted a soft pink and it looked like an old bedroom, the type of room the 1960’s boasted. There were no windows, but he didn’t expect there to be any. He pushed himself up, feeling sluggish. The effects of the drug were still running through him and his head pounded. He sat up, swinging his legs over the bed and standing up slowly. He was still dressed, thankfully, in the clothes he was taken in. He didn’t think he could bear it if he woke up naked. 

He slowly made his way to the front of the room where the door was, looming over him. He slowly reached out and felt the doorknob. It was impossibly cold under his touch and he turned his wrist. The doorknob opened without a problem and he could feel himself grow giddy. He could escape easily. He finished opening the door slowly so as not to attract attention, and opened it fully. 

Green eyes met his and Mitchells heart stopped. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” a silky voice asked and Mitchell took a small step back into the room, a shadow filling the small bit of light that was let in. 

* * *

Claire entered the Pritchett-Delgado household, looking around. She could hear Gloria yelling at Jay in the background and she slowly made her way up the stairs to their bedroom. Manny’s door was closed as she passed it, silence from the other end. She didn’t know how he was taking the kidnapping. Most likely the same way her own children were, with shock and numbness. 

“We can’t just let them do this.” 

Gloria was yelling at Jay. Claire stayed outside the door, listening in. She thought it was weird, hearing a private argument not meant for her ears, but she felt so numb and she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything. 

“What are you going to do?” Jay asked. 

“What do you think? Hunt the bastards down. Do you think I can’t? You forget I’m from Columbia, I have many connections and people who would love to help me,” Gloria snarled. Claire shivered at her tone; she didn’t doubt that Gloria wouldn’t hesitate to kill the folks that took Mitchell. She might even help Gloria herself, law be damned. That was her little brother that was gone. She would do anything for him. 

“And I would help you darling,” Jay said desperately, trying to calm down his wife. “But what do you think would happen to you if you did?” 

“That is our son,” Gloria yelled. “He is your own flesh and blood, and he is my family by choice-” 

“I know that,” Jay interrupted, growing angry. “Don’t you think I don’t want to tear that asshole apart?” 

“Then do it,” Gloria replied, sounding both resigned and pissed off. “What’s stopping you Jay?” 

Claire couldn’t hear anymore, couldn’t bear to hear the reasons her father wouldn’t fight. She knocked on the door and both of them turned to her, looking shocked. Gloria dusted herself off, like she was fixing some imaginary imperfection, and walked over to Claire. She was trying to pretend the argument never happened, Claire realised, and she was too tired to point it out the way she usually would when her father and Gloria had a disagreement. 

“I didn’t know you were there,” she said, tugging Claire away from the bedroom. Jay followed, staying silent. “What brings you here?” 

Claire stayed silent, gathering her thoughts. She didn’t know what compelled her to head over to her father's house, but she couldn't remain at home any longer. Cameron and Lily were staying over so they didn’t have to be alone, and she hated looking at them, picturing them without Mitchell behind them. The only other place she could run to was even worse, the house of the man who she might never see again. 

“I wanted to see you,” she said quietly and Gloria sighed. She wrapped her arms around Claire, holding tight. 

“Oh my poor girl,” she said gently, rocking her back and forth. Claire could feel tears well in her eyes and she realised this would be the first time she would have cried since her brother went missing. She had to be strong for everyone else, but there was no one there for her. Mitchell was her rock and he was gone. 

Claire wrapped herself tighter into Gloria, feeling herself become comforted the longer she was held close. She cried, the tears seeping into Gloria's expensive dress, but Gloria didn't seem to care. She pet Claire's hair and whispered gentle reassurances in her ear. Jay watched the scene impassively, looking like the small amount of emotion he had was gone. 

“He’ll be home soon,” Gloria promised and Claire found herself believing it despite no evidence being given to support the claim. There was something about Gloria’s voice that promised only kind, good things, and Claire didn’t know how she could lie about this. 

* * *

“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” the man said, placing a tray down on the bedside table. Mitchell could smell the bacon and eggs from the other side of the room. It smelled heavenly, but he refused to admit he was starving. Humans could go three weeks without food; he knew he could survive. He would rather die than take food from this man. 

“Who are you?” Mitchell asked from the other side of the room, curled up beside a wardrobe far away from his captor. He needed a name so he could give information to an investigator. He knew how these hostage situations worked; he was a lawyer after all. 

“You can call me Donovan,” the man said, smiling a wide grin. He was wearing the same suit he was the day he took Mitchell, almost like he hadn’t felt the need to change. He smiled gently at Mitchell, like he was coaxing a baby deer into a field so he could shoot it. “But that’s not my real name.” 

It didn’t matter. Mitchell knew what he looked like and from the looks of it the man was rich. Someone would know him. If Mitchell got out, he could make a solid case until the man couldn’t get out with his money. 

“Oh, none of that,” Donovan laughed, as if he read Mitchells mind. “You're quite brilliant, I will admit that. I would love to see you in court one day, but I’m afraid that’s not possible. You’re safe in here, don’t worry.” 

Mitchell licked his lips nervously and curled tighter to the wood. “I think we have very different ideas of safety.” 

“Why?” Donovan asked. He talked like he was a book narrator, his voice soft and perfect, filled with just the right amount of concern. “What could possibly hurt you in here?” He pointed to the ends of the bedside tables where plastic covers were placed wherever there was a sharp corner, and Mitchell was forced to endure the humiliation of having a room baby-proofed for him. He had no doubt the rest of the room was like that. 

“You,” Mitchell replied, and Donovan laughed gently, like he was speaking to an unruly wife who kept trying to tell him she no longer wanted to be a housewife for him, the patronising voice of someone talking to a child. 

“I would never hurt you,” Donovan replied, sitting down on the bed and beckoning Mitchell closer. Mitchell didn’t budge, trying to move farther away from him. “Why would you think that?” 

“Well considering the fact that you’ve been stalking me for months and just kidnapped me, I thought it was kind of obvious,” Mitchell said, then automatically regretted it. He had no idea what this man was capable of, talking back to this man was a horrible idea. 

Thankfully Donovan didn’t seem to care. He even seemed to be slightly amused by Mitchells defiance, a fact that made him very uncomfortable. 

“I can understand your fear my dear-” 

“Please don’t call me that,” Mitchell said, trying to stay polite. 

“You’ll just have to get used to not getting what you want my dear,” Donovan said, a hint of a threat in his voice. Mitchell nodded slightly, still burning from the nickname. Cameron used to call him that. It sounded like a cruel parody of a lover. “I really hate to make you uncomfortable, but I hope you know you’re not in control here.” 

Mitchell nodded slightly, not trusting his voice. Donovan beckoned him closer, hooking his finger, and Mitchell took a single step forward, not willing to piss the man off anymore. He took another step after a few seconds and he could see Donovan roll his eyes, like he didn’t understand Mitchells fear. In a sudden movement he reached across the bed and wrapped his hand around Mitchells wrist, tugging him forward. Mitchell pitched hard into the bed, his face dangerous close to Donovan’s legs. 

“There,” Donovan said gently, turning Mitchell over so he was laying down, looking up at his captor. Mitchell felt icy cold settle into his bones as he looked up at the impossible bright green eyes of the man. “That’s better.” 

“What the fuck?” Mitchell yelled, trying to struggle away. He was through with playing nice with the man, trying to be polite. He wanted out. He wanted to be home back with Cameron and his daughter, away from this mad man. He wanted this to be over. 

“Quiet,” Donovan snarled, his green eyes going dark. It was such a quick change in mood, going from a patronising gentleman, to a crazed lunatic. He wrapped a hand over Mitchells mouth, silencing him so he couldn’t say anything more. “Or I’ll cut out your tongue. Good wives should be seen and not heard.” 

Mitchell stopped struggling, trying to process the words. He wasn’t a girl, he knew this for a fact. He was an average height male with a beard. He was never a wife to anyone, never enjoyed being called it by his own husband or being teased by his dad. So why was the psychopath calling him one? What could possibly remind the man of a wife? 

A picture on the bedside table caught his eye. It was dusty, but Mitchell could still clearly see the couple. A man with piercing green eyes, a younger version of Donovan. Beside him was a small petite woman with long red hair and piercing blue eyes, looking down at the ground as Donovan wrapped his arms tightly around her.

_“You kind of remind me of her. Your eyes are the same shade of blue,”_ the man had said, the day Mitchell was taken by him. 

It made sense for one blissful second. 

“My sweet Adeline,” Donovan crooned, his voice hot in Mitchells ear and Mitchell had never wanted to die more. The man looked at him like someone else, like a small woman terrified of her husband, and Mitchell despised him. 

* * *

Cameron took a deep breath and composed himself. Claire's family and his daughter were waiting outside to see how he’ll react, seeing the way he was holding up through his husband's disappearance. He had to remain strong for his daughter and he had to prove he was okay even if he wasn’t. 

There was a deep whole in his heart, a missing piece of him. It took no fool to realise it was Mitchell. For years it had been Mitchell supporting him, Mitchell holding him gently and keeping him from harm, and Cameron couldn’t do the same. He didn’t know what to do without Mitchell. 

He wanted to kill whoever took his husband. He wanted them to burn in hell, he wanted their skin to peel off and be grinded in a meat grinder, and he wanted their heads smashed in by concrete. He wanted them to suffer for one hour for every second his husband was gone. He wasn’t usually this violent, but he wanted blood. He knew Gloria did too. He knew Gloria would help him make it a reality if he wanted to. 

He stepped out of the guest room and walked downstairs, squaring his shoulders. He passed sympathetic looking Dunphy kids, their eyes filled with sadness at their uncles disappearance. They looked at him with pity like they expected him to break down crying at any second, and Cameron was determined to prove them wrong. He had cried enough in the few hours when he found out his husband was gone. He didn’t want to any longer. His eyes burned from the salt. 

“Are you doing okay?” Phil asked, holding a glass of wine. His eyes were red, like he had just recently stopped crying the way Cameron did. 

“Yeah,” he said, a very obvious lie. “I think I’m okay.” 

“It’s okay not to be,” Phil said comfortingly, looking so damn understanding. “It’s understandable after what you’re going through.” 

“Phil, I am okay,” Cameron said, trying to ignore the voice inside his head that was telling him it was his fault, that Mitchell had expressed discomfort since the beginning and he just brushed it off, that he could have gone for ice instead and Mitchell wouldn’t have been taken. “I don’t need your comfort.” 

“You may not need it, but you deserve it,” Phil replied, looking so earnest. Cameron hated him for a second, but then he got a hold of himself and sighed. 

“Mitchell will come home soon,” he said, more to convince himself than anything. “And everything will be fine. Whatever happened to him, we will be fine. We’ll get him therapy and some help and I’ll stick by him no matter what. And we’ll be okay.” 

“Of course,” Phil said, nodding slightly, before walking out of the room. Cameron watched him leave then sighed. He had to believe it. It was the only thing currently holding him together. 

* * *

“Who was Adeline?” Mitchell asked as Donovan stroked his fingers through his hair. He said it gently, trying not to finch whenever his fingers brushed against his scalp. He didn’t want Donovan to get angry, didn’t want to accidentally set something off. The man was unpredictable.

“Oh my darling Adeline,” Donovan sighed, breathing in gently. He looked out into nothing, his eyes reliving memories Mitchell will never know. “She was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was so brilliant, so strong, so amazing. She was my rock, my world, my stars, my reason for living, and she was supposed to be my reason for dying.” He looked down sadly. “She died of cancer a few years ago. I miss her more and more everyday.” 

Mitchell struggled to process those words. He couldn’t believe that this psychopath could ever love so fiercely. He couldn't picture Donovan loving someone else the way he loved Cameron. 

“So why am I here?” Mitchell asked, bringing his hands up to the man’s cheek. He brushed Donovan’s skin, almost like a show of affection, trying to see if it would make him more receptive. This was a period of experimentation, trying to see what would help get him out of the room. 

Donovan leaned into his touch gently, before turning his hand around and kissing the skin gently. Some of his spit was left behind on Mitchells wrist, and Mitchell wanted to rub it off. 

“You look so much like her,” he whispered into Mitchells skin. “You could be her twin. It’s practically uncanny.” 

“But I’m not,” Mitchell said quietly, keeping his bones locked so he wouldn't pull away from Donovan's touch. Someone he knew that would only make Donovan angrier. “I’m not her. My name is Mitchell.” 

“But you could be her,” Donovan said, then licked the inside of Mitchells wrist. His tongue wrapped around his skin and Mitchell wanted to kill the man. It felt slimy and warm against his bare skin. 

“No I can’t, I’m someone else,” Mitchell argued, not trying to push the matter but desperately needing Donovan to understand why he was wrong. 

“People change their personalities all the time,” Donovan countered, gently putting down Mitchell's arm. “For their bosses, for their friends, for their lovers. There are a thousand different versions of you in the world. Why can’t you make one for me?” 

“Because I don’t want to.” 

“But I’m not giving you a choice.” 

* * *

Jay found Claire sitting in his living room. Gloria had left her there after she cried, and Claire’s skin was salty. She was looking out the window, her eyes glassy, thinking of nothing at all. 

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Jay said gruffly, sitting down next to her. The leather creaked as he did, the sound filling the empty air. Claire barely even noticed his presence. “You shouldn’t have been there.” 

“If you’re planning to go after him,” Claire said softly, not looking at him. “Invite me along. Please.” 

“No,” Jay said, sounding final. “I’ve already lost a child this weekend. I’m not losing another one.” 

“We are all going through this, you’re not the only one,” Claire said, finally looking at him. Her eyes were watery, but no tears fell. It was like she was sick of it. “You have to let me help. I want him home too.” 

Jay sighed and dropped it. He knew he couldn’t argue anything right now. He looked out where Claire was just staring into the darkness where the nothingness looked like the most fascinating thing in the world. Claire watched him, feeling sympathy bubble up in her. No one had checked on Jay just yet. 

“Dad,” Claire said gently, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “Are you okay? Do you need to talk?” 

“This isn’t the time,” Jay replied. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about then if I’m okay. Mitchell is missing, we don’t have time.” He protested too much, like he was afraid of someone finding out his true feelings. 

Claire almost rolled her eyes; it was so typical of her dad to bottle his feelings when everything went wrong. 

“We are sitting around waiting for news that might never come,” Claire said, throwing out her arms. She could feel a desperation in her, something in her begging for her father to talk, a reassurance that everything would be okay. “Now is the perfect time.” 

“News will come if we're just patient,” Jay snarled. “Mitchell will be fine.” 

“That’s not true,” Claire said frantically, grabbing her father’s shoulders tightly. She had to make me understand. “He could be dead for all we know, his body parts floating in the river-” 

“Claire!” 

“-or he could be in a sex trafficking plot,” Claire continued, her mind conjuring every horrible reality her brother could be facing at the moment. It was like she had no control. She didn’t want to hear any of them. “Or in some alleyway or something worse. Just speak, dad, he’s probably not coming back.” 

“Claire, why do you insist on this.” Jay brushed her fingers off of him. “Why do you believe the worst?” 

“Because it’s the truth,” Claire yelled and her father went silent, looking at her in pity. She collapsed, feeling so tired and scared and lost. She wanted her father, she wanted her mother, and most importantly, she wanted her brother. “What if he’s dead? I couldn’t protect him,” she panted, feeling herself start to cry again. “What if I never see him again. The signs were there dad, we ignored them. How long had he been getting flowers? How long had he been stalked and we did nothing.” 

Jay pursed his lips, watching his daughter cry. He looked down, feeling tense. His fingers clenched and unclenched, like he had nothing else to do with them. 

Claire wrapped her arms around herself, seeking comfort within herself if her father wasn’t offering it. Her shoulder shook and she was so glad her children weren’t there to see her break down. She didn’t think she would ever want them to see her so weak. 

“I’m scared he’s gone for good,” Jay said quietly, his voice scratchy, an old man’s voice. “My son. When he’s gone like this, I can’t help but relive every terrible thing I’ve said to him.” Jay looked at her, but he still wasn’t crying. His eyes weren't even wet. Instead they just looked defeated. “What did I say to him when he came out? What did I say to him after? My dad died not knowing if I loved him or not. What if my son has done the same?” 

Claire watched him talk, watched his eyes turn lifeless. She turned over, placing her body against his the way she would do when she was a child seeking comfort from a thunderstorm. It was like she was a little girl again, desperate for her father's attention and approval. 

Jay wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close and together they watched the darkness out the window. 

* * *

Mitchell leaned up against Donovan, trying not to shiver. His body was tense, stiff, and he could barely move it like his body had gone on lockdown. He tried to steady his breathing. His left arm that was pressed up against someone else's body burned with heat, almost like a constant reminder he wasn't alone. 

“Are you hungry Adeline?” Donovan asked sweetly, looking down at him. Mitchell nearly threw up; he could see that when Donovan looked at him he wasn’t seeing a thirty-nine year old lawyer with a husband and daughter. He was seeing his long dead wife, a crazed man desperately trying to fill a hole inside himself. It almost made Mitchell pity him, but then he remembered the way Donovan looked at him and he was filled with disgust once more. 

“Not Adeline,” Mitchell replied quietly. He could think of a million other things he could have said but this appeared the safest. The others would probably get him killed. 

“Not yet,” Donovan said, reaching to the bedside table where he placed the tray. The food on it was cold now, but it still smelt incredible. Mitchell's stomach growled against his will and Donovan laughed at him. “Do you want some?” 

“No thank you.” 

“I think you do.” Donovan picked up a fork and speared a piece of strawberry. “Adelines favourite,” he said wistfully, before holding it up to Mitchell's mouth and Mitchell realised with dawning horror that the man intended to feed him like a child. “Open up.” 

“I’d rather die,” Mitchell said, then shut his mouth, refusing to open it. It was true what he said; he hated the situation he was in. Any sane person would. 

Donovan's eyes went dark, almost like a forest at night. It was such a quick chance of mood. Mitchell almost didn’t seem it coming. He still had to get used to the man’s horrible temper, his changing mood with a single snap of a finger. He threw the fork across the room, the metal clanging against the floor. Mitchell’s breath hitched. He fucked up. 

“Why do you insist on being difficult?” Donovan yelled, pulling Mitchell close to his face on the bed. His fingers dug into Mitchells skin uncomfortably. “I give you everything. I give you this house that I built with my own hands, I make you dinner, I rub your feet after work-” and by this time Mitchell knew he was no longer talking about him, “-and you still insist on fighting me Adeline. What have I done wrong?” 

“Let me go,” Mitchell said, hoping he sounded calm and collected, but probably just sounded scared. But much to his astonishment Donovan listened. He pushed Mitchell away from him and Mitchell head slammed on the iron bed board behind him. He saw stars and blind spots in his vision. Pain exploded inside his eyes and he had to close them. He struggled, trying to get off the bed. He couldn’t spend one more second around the man. 

Fingers wrapped around his throat, almost lovingly so, and Mitchell stilled. “There’s a good Adeline,” Donovan cooed, his fingers squeezing slightly. Mitchell still refused to open his eyes, and look into the face of his kidnapper and stalker. “Stay still.” 

So Mitchell did. 

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to add that in my fics there will NEVER be any non-con. In any fandom that makes me very uncomfortable. I will not be writing it here, or ever. Whatever happens, there will be no rape in this series. There will be creepy behaviour but it won't go beyond that, not even in an implied way. Thank you.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the sequel! there might be more


End file.
